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Crumbs on the table.
Stars on a cloth.
Read what they scatter.
Name what they cross.

Crumb to a cluster, cluster to line,
table turns sky on a weekday time.
I trace with a fingertip, quiet and slow,
graph of the hours where choices go.
Vector clocks ticking in flour-white arcs,
ordering moments by soft small sparks.
Lamport notes in a kitchen of light,
partial but honest, enough for the night.
Observer pattern, the fates take notes,
threading our habits through hidden coats.
Factory of mornings, adapter of rain,
decorator kindness on ordinary grain.

Breadcrumb cosmology, pattern in the crumbs,
map of the many where the rhythm hums.
Monolith story or services of small,
I watch the scatter and hold what calls.

Here on the cloth, a fork-made star,
span id glitter where last laughs are.
I tag the glints with a whispered name,
segments of meaning that never feel tame.
Raft of our voices elects one calm,
leader for now with a linen balm.
CRDT mercy that never confers,
yet merges to peace when the ledger stirs.
Feature flags flicker in the spine’s soft code,
turn on the courage for a rain-wet road.
Service mesh selves with a mesh of care,
routing the gentle to open air.

Breadcrumb cosmology, chart the tender spread,
design of the day where the crumbs have led.
Microservice moments or one long call,
I follow the shimmer and bless it all.

monolith
many selves
single thread
event bus
remember
re-member

Ariadne logic with a kitchen twine,
thread through a labyrinth of yours and mine.
DAG of decisions in a floury field,
acyclic kindness as the core revealed.
Consistent hashing for the heat and calm,
balance the buckets with a steady palm.
Saga of becoming when steps go long,
compensate damage with a softer song.
Know-thyself written in sugar and salt,
read-thyself gently and forgive the fault.
Not one identity fixed like stone,
shards that are shining when woven as one.

Breadcrumb cosmology, pattern under breath,
tabletop heavens that outtalk death.
Monolith memory or murmurs in swarm,
I learn to be many and hold one form.

Profile the silence, trace the sigh,
sample the moment that answers why.
Roll up the starlit proof of care,
aggregate love into open air.

Sometimes I wish for a clean new start,
reload a save of an unburned heart.
But checkpoints crumble in the tea-time light,
and versioning mercy feels more right.
So I persist warmth in a human way,
replicate gently across the day.
Strong when I need to, relaxed in the rest,
eventual wholeness is how I’m blessed.
Crumbs form constellations then vanish by sweep,
still their design runs quiet and deep.

Breadcrumb cosmology, I read, I stay,
pattern of being in the crumbs’ ballet.
Whether one story or services free,
I gather the scatter and choose to be.

Table is sky.
Hand is a star.
Small bright proofs.
Here we are.

បុណ្យភូមិ ២០១៦ (Bon Phum 2016)

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